


Til Tuesday

by gwenweybourne



Series: Infinite Tuesdays [1]
Category: The Monkees (Band), The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Angst, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Homophobic Language, Implied Past Violence, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Masturbation, Micky contains multitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Voyeurism, Vulnerable Mike, and sweetness, but also fluff, show-verse fic, some OOC cussing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-22 05:54:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20869265
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwenweybourne/pseuds/gwenweybourne
Summary: It happens on a Tuesday. It isn't supposed to happen because it's a Tuesday. But it happens because it is a Tuesday and Micky wants ice cream. The smallest decisions can lead to situations requiring much bigger choices. Meanwhile, Mike thinks he can keep his secret forever, but this Tuesday changes everything.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My first attempt at show-verse fic. It's got some whimsy, but I couldn't resist the lure of the angst-ridden backstory. And I'm a sucker for vulnerable!Mike. I often thought of the short scene between Mike and Milly in "Monkee Mother" where he allows himself to be a little softer and even speak briefly of his childhood. 
> 
> Some OOC use of salty language that would obviously not appear in the show. 
> 
> I haven't seen Good Omens yet, nor have I read the book, but I later realized I think I was unconsciously influenced by the Aziraphale and Crowley fandom content I see on Tumblr. But the angel/devil-on-your-shoulder trope is a well-worn one at any rate.

It happened on a Tuesday. It wasn’t supposed to happen because it was a Tuesday. But it happened _because_ it was a Tuesday and Micky wanted ice cream.

On Tuesdays the Monkees were busy doing separate things. Micky had joined a casual beach volleyball league with some of the surfers and beach bums. It was a sport he enjoyed from a practical standpoint because it involved a lot of jumping around and running and yelling, a bit of shit-talking, and it strengthened his arms as well as his legs, and that helped with his drumming. He also enjoyed it from a logical standpoint in that cute girls in cute bikinis would often gather to watch. They always had a game late Tuesday morning. Micky liked Tuesdays.

Davy had landed a seasonal part-time job handling horses for a summertime business allowing people to ride on the beach during the day. If there was anything Davy liked even more than girls, it was horses, and getting paid to help care for the animals was a dream come true. He was always out on Tuesdays.

Peter liked to go into town to busk on Tuesdays around this time. There was a weekly cheap matinee showing at the local cinema and he liked to set up and play his guitar out front. Mike had argued that folks who were set on saving a few cents by taking in the cheap show would be pretty unlikely to throw money his way, but Peter countered that sometimes saving a bit of money on something fun — something that made them feel happy — made people also feel a little more generous. And it turned out to be one of Peter’s great insights. They were far and few between, but sometimes Peter just saw the world in a way that allowed him to figure things out that the rest of them couldn’t. Turned out that lots of people, in a good mood from looking forward to popcorn, air-conditioning, and a creature feature, didn’t mind throwing a few coins in a guitar case for the kid with the golden hair and sunny smile singing wholesome folk tunes — and even taking requests — while they waited in line, thinking maybe some of these long-hairs weren’t so bad after all. He usually made enough money to put some food in the pantry and that was nothing to sneeze at.

As for Mike … Mike stayed home on Tuesdays because he got the Pad to himself and that was pretty rare. He didn’t tell them what he got up to, but Micky reckoned it was probably what Mike got up to at home most of the time … playing guitar and working on songs. At least that’s what he tried to get up to, but when everyone else was home it was either noisy bedlam as their house was being invaded by gangsters or Peter was getting kidnapped or Davy was getting mixed up with the wrong girl or Micky was accidentally setting something on fire — sometimes all at the same time — and Mike had to deal with all that. It was a wonder he got any music written at all.

Micky didn’t know what they’d do without Mike. But he sometimes wondered what Mike got out of it because it seemed like Mike could probably get along just fine without the rest of them.

But he wasn’t thinking about that on this particular Tuesday. Micky was thinking about ice cream. Ned, the bass player from The Four Martians, had taken a gig riding a Dickie Dee bike to earn some extra bread and he’d quickly figured out that stopping by the volleyball game was a good way to make some quick sales. And meet some cute girls. It made Micky a little sore because Ned knew the Monkee drummer couldn’t resist his tasty wares, even if Micky didn’t exactly have the extra coin to justify it week after week. But since it was a Tuesday, Micky knew Peter would come through with some groceries. But when he reached into the pockets of his swim trunks he came up empty. Dammit. His stomach yowled in protest. But he’d stashed some coins in an old stinky shoe under the sofa in the Pad. For emergencies. This definitely qualified as an emergency. A delicious chocolate emergency.

He left his shoes behind on the beach and hustled back up to the Pad, slipping inside quietly, not wanting to disturb Mike if he was busy working. But Mike was nowhere to be seen in the living room or kitchen or balcony. Micky shrugged and dropped to the floor to grope blindly under the sofa, finding a broken maraca (oh, Davy), a drumstick (oh, that’s where that went! He’d just leave that under there and let Mike keep believing a seagull flew away with it and that’s why they lost a day of rehearsal because Micky hadn’t had a spare), a lacy bra (oh, Davy!), something a little … slimy? (oh god, did it just _move_?), and then finally, the shoe. Micky sat up, making a face and wiping his hand on the carpet, and was about to tip the contents of the smelly tennis shoe into that same hand when he heard a sound from upstairs. Micky stilled for a moment, cocking his head. It sounded like … oh, there it was again. A moan.

A devilish grin spread over Micky’s face. Did Mike have a girl up there? That sly dog! No wonder he liked to stay home alone on Tuesdays!

“Atta boy,” he whispered, smirking. This was unexpected. And of course now he wanted to know more about it.

At this particular moment two other Mickys, much, much smaller than the life-size original, popped into existence. One over each shoulder. One sported a pair of white wings, white jeans, white T-shirt, and a tiny halo floating over the tiny angel’s tiny head. The other, naturally, was dressed in red and black, sported tiny horns, a black leather motorcycle cap, and a tiny hard-on visible through his leather pants (though, fairly impressive if one were to keep proportions in mind). He was smoking a tiny cigarette.

“Don’t do it!” admonished angel-Micky in a high-pitched, self-righteous, vaguely British tone. “Leave Mike alone! It’s his own private business!”

“Ehhhh, don’t listen to that square,” sneered devil-Micky in a strong Bronx accent (The Bronx? Micky had never even been to Manhattan before.). “Go get an eyeful. Maybe you’ll see some boobs.” He exhaled a long plume of smoke for emphasis.

“Boobs,” Micky sighed with a dreamy smile.

“Boobs indeed!” scoffed angel-Micky. “How would you feel if Mike was spying on you while you were … entertaining a young lady?”

Micky shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind. Whatever floats your boat.”

Angel-Micky gasped dramatically. Devil-Micky cackled. “Right on, Daddy-O!” He offered up his tiny hand and Micky high-fived him with a single finger.

Then Micky held the stinky shoe up to angel-Micky who let out a choking gasp and dramatically fell to the floor like a swatted fly, retching. “I give up … Uncle! … You two deserve each other! Oh, what a world!”

Devil-Micky flicked his cigarette butt in the angel’s direction and gave Micky a two-fingered salute. “You know what to do now, kid.”

Micky shook his head, and the moaning upstairs was growing louder and more frequent. He shoved the shoe back under the sofa. And looked up at the second floor of the Pad.

What was happening in their room was clearly meant to be private, but he couldn’t help himself. Mike was so … private. If he ever went on dates or scored with chicks, he never talked about it. He never brought anyone back to the Pad — at least no one that the rest of the band had ever seen. He never walked around in swim trunks like the rest of them often did when they were spending a day hanging out at the beach. In fact, Micky had never seen Mike go swimming. Did he even know how? Imagine living in a beach house and not being able to swim! Then again, Texas was land-locked and from what little Mike had shared with them about his upbringing, it sounded like there wasn’t much money for luxuries like swimming lessons. But still, Micky had so many questions about their closed-off leader.

And, like a cat, barefooted Micky silently scaled the spiral staircase and hovered outside the room he shared with Mike. As he’d expected, the door was half-open — the weather had been extra warm lately and they just kept the door open most of the time, especially while sleeping, to let the cross-breeze through. It got awfully stuffy otherwise.

It wasn’t until he was already up there that it occurred to him that all the moaning he’d heard had sounded like it was coming from Mike. No breathy female giggles, sighs, or corresponding moans. He chanced a peek inside.

And then what he saw rendered him breathless. Mike … stretched out on his bed, his hat off, allowing his black, wavy hair to spread over the pillow, his jeans and underwear shoved down around his thighs, shirt hanging open, revealing his lean, narrow chest and flat stomach. A trail of dark hair led from his bellybutton down to a thick patch of black curly hair around Mike’s cock, which was swollen and hard … and kinda huge! Wow. Micky was both impressed and a little envious.

Mike was stroking himself, working his hand over his erection, letting out little moans and gasps punctuated by the occasional cuss word and increasingly heavier breathing. His eyes were closed, full lips slightly parted as he imagined whatever it was that was getting him off. Micky wanted to know what it was. What did Mike think about when he wanted to jerk off? Who did he think about? Up until this very moment, Micky hadn’t been sure that Mike jerked off at all. Micky, Davy, and Peter were much less concerned with total privacy when it came to taking care of their needs. They didn’t do it in front of each other, of course, but usually a trip to the bathroom or shower was all they needed and maybe sometimes they were overheard a bit, but whatever. Sometimes a sneaky one late at night when the other was asleep. But Micky was pretty sure Mike had never done that in their room. Mike hadn’t really seemed like a very sexual person — all he seemed to care about was music and the band and the business of the band, and again, whatever attention he had left over was spent on bailing them out of the constant jams the Monkees seemed to find themselves in on a nearly weekly basis. Mike had written some nice love songs for the band, but love was different from sex.

Micky knew he should split. It was bad enough he’d been hoping to get a gander at the girl he’d thought Mike had in their room, but this was … he really wasn’t supposed to be watching this. But he felt frozen in place. He couldn’t tear his eyes away for some reason. Because Mike looked so different in this state.

Mike was suddenly pure sex. He wasn’t being efficient or utilitarian about this — in the way he often approached other tasks. Even in the way Micky often got himself off. It was a means to an end. If he really wanted to go for it, it was better with a partner. But Mike was … really getting off on his own. And it was starting to really turn Micky on. And he was feeling pretty damn weird about it because he’d never thought about another guy that way. But then again, he’d never watched another guy jerk off before. It was nothing he’d ever wanted to see before. He’d heard about circle jerks and guys who whipped it out in porno theaters — that was stuff for perverts.

Did that mean Micky was a pervert, though? Spying on Mike in an incredibly private moment. Even if he looked awfully sexy. Especially now as he moved his hand faster, clearly getting closer to coming. His back arched slightly, his skinny hips thrusting up, pushing his cock into his hand. Was he imagining a warm mouth … a hot, wet pussy?

“Oh, god,” he moaned. “Oh, fuck … oh … Micky … yes … Micky …”

Or … something else. Oh, god, indeed. Micky’s jaw dropped and then Mike was coming, back arching as he out a soft, strangled cry, shooting over his bare chest and stomach. Micky crept away and snuck out of the Pad, trying to be as quiet as possible, in shock over what he’d heard.

* * *

“DOLENZ! For cryin’ out loud!”

“Huh?”

“Huh?” said Ben, mockingly, angling his chin at the ball as it rolled down the beach from the easy shot Micky had completely missed. “What’s eating you, man? We’re getting killed out here and you’re off in the clouds. You high or somethin’?”

“Naw, naw, man, I’m sorry,” Micky said, cheeks flaming. “I’m just … I’m not feelin’ so hot. I thought I could play through it.”

“Well, jeez, if you’re sick, man, that’s somethin’ else. But why don’t you sit out. Jimmy can fill in for you.”

Micky rubbed the back of his head, still embarrassed, but decided to let Ben believe the fib. They played for fun, but it was also a league game and he was going to ruin their standing if he kept playing like this. “Yeah, yeah, that’s a good idea, Ben. Sorry for missing that shot. All those shots.”

“It’s okay, Mick. It’s supposed to be fun — don’t get out here and kill yourself if you’re feeling under the weather. Go get out of the sun.”

Jimmy jogged over from the sidelines and clapped Micky jovially on the shoulder. “It’s all right, Mick. You’ll do better next week.”

Micky smiled wanly. “Yeah, thanks, Jimmy. I’m gonna … head home and lie down.”

He pretended to head back to the Pad, but skirted around past a few of their Beechwood neighbors before getting back on the beach so he could walk for a while and think. About what he’d seen. What he’d heard.

Sometimes girls had boyish nicknames. Like Charlie or Billie. Did Mike know a girl named Mickie? Micky had met one once. It was short for Michelle. This seemed like a bit of a stretch, though. And Mike didn’t know that many girls. The ones he did know he tended to meet through his bandmates. Though if Mike liked a girl it seemed like it might be something he would keep to himself.

Micky was equally attracted and repelled by the idea that Mike fantasized about him — like opposite poles of a magnet. He felt a rush of warmth in his groin when he imagined Mike stroking that huge cock while imagining doing stuff with Micky.

But what kind of stuff? That’s when it got a little too real and weird. And wasn’t that just an ego trip for Micky? He only thought it was kinda groovy because someone thought he was attractive enough to beat off to. Even if that someone was a guy … even if that guy was Mike … it was kinda cool.

Maybe it was just a fluke. Micky had had some pretty bizarre wet dreams in his past that he sometimes dusted off for masturbatory material. Stuff he’d never tell anyone about, but which turned him on anyway. Maybe that’s all it was. Yeah, that had to be it. He looked down at his skinny, underdeveloped body, and snorted softly. He got girls because of his personality: he was outgoing and he could make them laugh and turn on the charm or, at the very least, play the clown to get their attention. But it certainly wasn’t for his looks. And those girls never really stuck around for all that long. Especially once Davy twinkled at them. Or they saw Peter without his shirt on. Or in shorts. Peter in any state of undress, really. Mike’s dark, brooding Texan thing drew attention, but they gave up pretty quickly on trying to make any time with him. They all told Mike he was being way too picky.

Ever since he was a kid, Micky would sometimes get taunted about his unusual features, being called everything from a troll to “Pancake Face.” The idea that anyone would find him attractive enough to jerk off to … it was kind of ridiculous.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's the following Tuesday, and Micky decides to conduct an experiment.

Micky thought about what he’d seen and heard for the rest of the week. It wasn’t intentional, but he couldn’t seem to stop rolling it around in his head. He was looking at Mike very differently now and that worried him because he didn’t want to start treating Mike differently than usual because then Mike would sense something was wrong. And Micky wasn’t ready to talk about any of this. He rather doubted Mike would want to discuss it, either. Micky had intruded on an extremely private moment and Mike would be livid if he found out.

But when the next Tuesday rolled around, Micky couldn’t stop himself from spying on Mike again. He pretended to leave the Pad for his volleyball game, but just took a short walk around the neighborhood to kill time and then quietly re-entered the house. He was already feeling weird about doing this. The first time had been an accident, but now he was consciously choosing to spy on Mike. But, underneath it all, Micky had a curious and scientific mind and he had formed a hypothesis about all this. And hypotheses needed to be tested in order to draw conclusions. He wanted to know if a) Mike made a regular Tuesday ritual of retiring to their room to … take care of himself, and b) if him uttering Micky’s name was a one-time deal or a regular thing. Micky needed to know these things before he could deal with the more confusing feelings he was experiencing when he thought about Mike. Because he was thinking about Mike in a very different way now and if it was all just a weird fluke, then he could probably force himself to put it out of his mind. But if it wasn’t … then … well, he’d have another decision to make. But first, he needed to observe.

It was quiet and still in the Pad when Micky quietly slipped through the balcony door. But then he heard footsteps and the sound of someone approaching the stairs. Oh, he was either too early or catching Mike beating off was just a fluke (Micky felt a stab of disappointment at this thought, and that alarmed him). He would ruin the controlled environment for the experiment if Mike saw him, so Micky dropped to the floor and quickly rolled under the leather psychiatrists’ couch, covering his mouth so as not to let any noise out, trying to flatten himself into the floor.

Mike descended the stairs, shirt hanging open, humming to himself. He moved into the kitchen and opened the icebox, peering inside and then grumbling softly for a moment, then breaking into a grin. “Oh, Pete will probably bring some food money home today. Groovy, groovy, groovy.” He slammed the icebox shut, poured a glass of water from the tap that he drank down, and then headed back upstairs again, whistling.

_In a good mood_, Micky noted. _This is a good sign_. He pillowed his chin on his folded arms, deciding to stay in his hiding place for the moment. Of course, this also gave him time to reflect on how weird he was acting. Hiding in his own house so he could spy on his roommate’s masturbation habits. His cheeks flushed slightly. _Ugh, it sounds even worse when you put it that way_. He shook his head slightly, to shake that thought away. _I just need to be sure of a few things. I need more information. That’s all. It’s fine. _

And then angel-Micky popped back into existence. “_Fine_? You think this is fine? Oh, my dear child, where did I go wrong with you?”

“Awww, shaddap!” said devil-Micky, who appeared a moment later. “So he likes to watch? No big whoop.”

“I do _not_ ‘like to watch’!” Micky hissed indignantly through gritted teeth.

“So whaddaya call watching your so-called best buddy beat his meat?”

“So crude!” Angel-Micky scolded. “Must you use that kind of foul language?”

“Oh dear,” devil-Micky said, then took off his motorcycle cap and held it to his chest in mock remorse. “Where _are_ my manners? I’ll put it in a way that you church-y types can appreciate: _choking the bishop_!”

Angel-Micky let out a scandalized cry, fell into a dead faint, and disappeared in a puff of tiny feathers.

“Would you _both_ buzz off already?” Micky whispered. “I’m nervous enough as it is.”

“All right,” said devil-Micky. “But you can dress up it anyway you want, Professor Einstein. You’re still just a nasty little peeping Tom who likes to look at other guys’ dicks. There’s somethin’ wrong with you … ain’t it great?” He gave a toothy grin and popped out of existence again.

_That’s not true_, Micky thought, chewing his lip. _Not other guys … just … Mike? Is there something wrong with me?_

* * *

There was definitely something wrong with him. Because now Micky was locked in the bathroom and jerking himself off after watching Mike do the same. Listening to Mike moan Micky’s name as he pumped his cock … the imagery added to all of the increasingly dirty thoughts Micky had been having over the course of the week and he was so hard it would have been indecent for him to go in public with only the thin fabric of his swim trunks standing between public society and his raging hard-on.

He tried to make fast work of it so he could flee the Pad before Mike came downstairs. Given how turned on he was, that wasn’t a difficult task to accomplish and he clapped his free hand over his mouth to muffle his cry as he came. Shaky, he quickly cleaned himself up and washed his hands before gingerly opening the bathroom door.

“Jesus, Micky!” Mike hollered, jumping back in fright.

Micky let out a girlish scream, realizing Mike had been right outside the door. They stared at each other, chests heaving, faces scarlet.

“What’re you doin’ here, man?” Mike spoke first, shoving a hand through his mussed hair. “Scared ten years offa me. I thought you were at your game! Um … when did you get here?”

“I, uh, had to use the john,” Micky stammered, realizing how silly that sounded, given he was technically still in the john. “Public ones had a line a mile long and there were too many people around to take a leak in the bushes. I just slipped in a minute ago. Sorry to scare you.”

“It’s fine, man,” Mike said, exhaling a long breath. “I was just … takin’ a nap and I’m not quite in my right head yet. You startled me.”

Then Mike peered more closely at Micky. “Hey, y’alright, Mick? Your face is real red. I keep tellin’ you to take it easy in that sun. It’s peak time right now. You go drink some water before you get back out there, huh?”

Micky nodded like a marionette having a string yanked.

“Y’all damn fools, jumpin’ around during the hottest part of the day,” Mike muttered as he brushed by Micky into the bathroom. “We got some sense in Texas, man. Stay in the damn shade. Drink some lemonade. Wait for the sun to simmer down a bit.” He shut the door behind him, still talking, voice muffled. “Damn Yankees up here … not usin’ their heads, I reckon. Well, I’ll tell ya a thing or two, boy howdy…”

Micky slipped out while Mike was still talking to himself, cheeks still ablaze. That had been way too close!

* * *

Mike’s muttering trailed off and he looked at himself in the mirror as he washed up. His cheeks were still flushed from his orgasm and then the shock of running into Micky.

“That was way too close,” he murmured. “Every time I think I got a minute to myself, one ’em comes barging in here with one thing or another.”

Though, really, he couldn’t begrudge Micky for needing to answer nature’s call. In his own way, Mike had been doing the same thing. _Lord, I just hope I was done by the time he got in here. He can’t know. He just can’t. None of ’em can. They won’t understand. It’ll be just like last time and then I lose everything._


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Micky finally makes a decision. Mike's reaction is ... unexpected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Non-graphic references to a past incident of homophobic violence; homophobic slurs.

By the following Tuesday Micky found himself outside the bedroom door for a third time and he knew it was now or never. He had to either reveal himself to Mike or just simply stop secretly watching his friend masturbate. Micky was starting to even creep himself out a bit with his behavior. Twice now Mike moaned for someone named Micky and this third time was no exception. He had to know. And had decided he was willing to … do stuff with Mike if he really wanted to. Because increasingly it was all Micky could think about. He was starting to wonder what it would be to kiss Mike, to hold Mike’s huge, hard cock in his hand. Touch it and stroke it. Maybe taste it. Until Mike came. Because he was so beautiful when he came. It was the first time Micky had seen him in a truly unguarded moment. And maybe that was part of the reason why he liked to watch. To see Mike lose himself just for a few moments. To simply give himself pleasure just because. Micky wasn’t sure Mike was getting any physical/sexual affection anywhere else and suddenly he wanted to be the one to change that.

So, it was decided. Oh, god. His friendship with Mike would never be the same after this. Was he willing to risk it? And then Micky noticed that his legs were moving him into the bedroom, so yeah, apparently he was. He would have to act fast because when he hit that squeaky floorboard …

Mike’s eyes flew open and he gasped, “Micky … Micky, what the fuck, man? Are you crazy or somethin’ … Jesus, can’t you see I’m — what are you _doing_?”

“Don’t stop, Mike,” Micky said softly, placing his warm hand on Mike’s bare chest, pressing down just enough to prevent Mike from twisting his half-naked body away. “Please don’t stop. I like watching you. I —”

“You … you _what_?” Mike sputtered, blushing beet-red now, and then his gaze turned black and fierce and he reared back, folding his long legs up, then kicking out, hitting Micky squarely in the chest with both of his bare feet, sending him tumbling over to the floor and knocking the wind out of him. “You … you get the fuck away from me!” Mike yelled in a panic, scrabbling over the bed and backing himself into a corner like a frightened animal, where he yanked up his pants and cased the room for a weapon. “Davy! Peter! You better not. I’ll fucking kill all y’all first.” Then Mike saw the oversized hammer for the equally oversized gong that hung on the back of their bedroom door and he grabbed it, brandishing it threateningly, even while vaguely realizing it wasn’t much of a weapon at all. “Just try it. You won’t get me this time!” Mike was breathing fast, shaking, in fight-or-flight mode, and this was definitely _fight_.

Still on the floor, Micky, gasping for air, watched all of this in confusion that was blooming into fear. What was happening? Why was Mike … he was acting crazy. And when his so-called friend stretched to his full height and threatened him with the hammer, Micky let out a cry and curled up on himself, trying to protect his head in case Mike struck. “What do you mean, ‘this time’? Don’t hurt me, Mike. Please … I’m sorry I snuck up on you … I fucked up, I’m sorry … _please_ don’t hurt me …”

Through his haze of panic- and fear-driven aggression, Mike saw Micky balled up on the floor, utterly terrified and pleading for mercy. And then he looked at the hammer in his hands. He slowly put it down, and placed a shaky hand against the wall for support, feeling suddenly light-headed.

“Micky … what the hell? What are you doing?”

Micky slowly uncurled and sat up, looking apprehensively at Mike. “Trying not to get my head bashed in, man!”

“No, I mean, whaddaya think you’re doin’, walking in on a fella having … a private moment?” Mike yelled. “Spyin’ on me like some kinda …”

“Pervert?” Micky supplied.

“Well … yeah!” _But really, I’m the pervert. It’s always been me._

Micky blushed and looked down, rubbing his chest where Mike had kicked him. “First time was an accident. I had to come back to the Pad to get some cash for Dickie Dee and … I saw you. I … heard what you said …”

Mike’s eyes went even wider with alarm. He realized that Micky knew. Micky knew everything.

“And then … I couldn’t stop watching,” Micky was speaking quickly now. Couldn’t believe he was confessing the way he was, but what else could he say to explain himself? “And then again last week and now. I’mreallysorryMike. I’m not a pervert, I promise. I promised myself I was going to tell you what I was doing. Tell you that … you look really sexy. And I was gonna tell you that I can touch you … if you want me to. I thought you wanted me to. But I think I was really wrong. And I’m sorry.”

Mike stared hard at him again. “Why the _fuck_ would you wanna touch me? Have you _ever_ wanted to … touch a guy before?”

“Well … no. Not really, I guess. But you’re not just a guy. You’re … you.”

Mike’s mouth trembled slightly. “You … you know better than to mess with me, don’t you, Mick? By now? You’re not trying to make a fool outta me … or trick me. Because that would be a real shitty thing to do. I thought we were friends.”

Micky stood up slowly. “We are friends! How could you say that I would …” he trailed off and looked keenly at the older boy. “Oh, my god. This has happened to you before, hasn’t it? … Mike?”

Mike stared at him for a long moment, then nodded silently, staring at his feet. It never ceased to amaze him the way Micky — for all his clowning around — could sometimes see right through to the heart of a matter.

“Oh, my god,” Micky repeated, in a sad and shocked tone that left no doubt of his sincerity and raised a lump in Mike’s throat. He hadn’t told anyone about what had happened that night.

Micky moved back to the bed and sat down. He patted the spot next to him. “Come here, Mike. Please tell me what happened. You know I’d never hurt you, right? Ever. It’s _me_, man. You think I’m capable of that kind of stuff? With you? I mean, with anyone, but especially not with you. Come on. You know me better than that.”

Mike paused for a beat, then nodded and let himself come back to the bed and sit next to his friend. He looked into Micky’s warm brown eyes brimming with concern and felt something break inside of him. “It was back in Dallas. I had this friend … I liked this guy. A lot. And I thought he liked me, too. In that … way. He led me on to believe that … well … I wasn’t stupid … I had to be real sure before tryin’ anything. But … it was a trick. A trap.”

“Oh, Mike,” Micky murmured.

Mike shrugged, looking away. “I was stupid, after all. They knew all along. They set me up. A whole bunch of ’em came out of nowhere. Guys I’d called friends. I didn’t stand a chance. They beat me real bad. I fought back, I mean, I tried … I mean, I wanted to try, but there were … just too many. I wondered if they were gonna kill me. Some of ’em were good ol’ boys from good families and I was just faggot white trash. That’s what they called me. They wouldn’t have gotten a murder rap for killin’ me, no way, no how. But I guess I wasn’t worth the trouble in the end. They left me in the bushes like roadkill. I managed to finally get up and drag myself home, but I don’t remember much of that. Too scared to go to a hospital. Too scared to rat ’em out.” He snorted softly. “Too smart to rat ’em out. I woulda been dead for sure.”

“Mike,” Micky whispered, horrified, slipping his arm around Mike, and Mike let him without even realizing it.

“As soon as I was healed up enough, I got in my car and started driving. Ten bucks left in my pocket by the time I got here. I just knew I wouldn’t survive another go like that. I figured I’d rather starve to death in California than get beaten to death in Texas. I know I’m disgusting and wrong and awful, but I can’t help it. I’ve tried … tried to be like everyone else. Tried being with girls. I like girls … but not in the way I’m supposed to, I guess. It always goes wrong and it ain’t their fault. So I try to keep to myself. I … thought I was keeping it to myself.”

Micky blinked, trying to unpack all Mike had just said and triage which thing to deal with first. “Mike, that’s awful. I’m so sorry that happened to you.”

Mike shrugged. “It was a long time ago.”

“No,” Micky said, a little more fiercely. He took Mike’s shoulders in his hands and made the older boy look at him. “That was wrong, what they did. That was … messed up. They shouldn’t have done that. They had no right to hurt you like that.”

Mike met Micky’s eyes, but it was like staring into the sun and he ducked his head and shrugged out of Micky’s grip. His compassion was too overwhelming. Too sharp and raw. It cut Mike as deeply as pity.

Micky was reeling from Mike’s confession, but he was troubled by so many other things. “So … you’re telling me that you don’t get with anyone, Mike? Ever? It’s not like there aren’t places where —”

“I ain’t goin’ to no queer bars!” Mike snapped miserably, flinching as if he’d been struck. “Those places are still … people get busted there. People get hurt there. Guys wait for … them to leave and follow ’em until they can hurt ’em. Kill ’em. It’s safer here than in Texas, but ain’t nowhere really safe. And besides … I don’t want what they got there. Ain’t that different from what Davy does. He pretends to court, but he’s just in it for the quick business. Goddamn revolving door of chicks comin’ in and outta his room. Naw, I just reckon I’m better off taking care of myself.” His cheeks flushed as he chanced a look at Micky. “I don’t wanna talk about this no more, Micky. It ain’t proper. It ain’t right.”

Micky stared at Mike without a word until Mike looked at him questioningly, his posture tense, almost ready to flee this time. Like a wounded animal.

“You’re not disgusting or wrong or awful, Mike,” Micky said softly. “That’s impossible. You’re … the best cat I know. The best friend. I think it’s really groovy that you like me. I like you, too.”

Mike shook his head mournfully. “Naw, man. Not the way I like you, Mick. It’s not the same. And I get it, it’s okay, just —”

Micky gave Mike an exasperated look and cut him off as he kissed him firmly on the mouth.

Mike startled and nearly jerked away out of instinct, but he managed to hold still and let Micky kiss him. Micky pulled away and looked at Mike.

“Micky … what’re you doin’?” Mike whispered. “Seriously, man … are you drunk? Did someone slip you somethin’?”

“Sober as a judge,” Micky replied softly. “Will you kiss me back this time?”

“Micky, I —” Mike was cut off as Micky pressed his lips to Mike’s once again and this time Mike kissed him back. Gentle at first, then harder. Micky slipped his tongue into Mike’s mouth and it was too much. Mike pulled away with a gasp.

“C’mon, man — don’t … don’t …”

“Don’t what?” Micky said softly, almost innocently.

“Don’t … fuckin’ tease me. You don’t actually want this. I’m not … some experiment for you to play with. I don’t … if you kiss me again … you better really mean it.”

Micky pulled off his T-shirt and climbed into Mike’s lap, straddling his narrow hips. Mike shook his head, eyes wide, hesitantly letting his hands cradle Micky’s waist and Micky kissed him again, this time immediately licking into his mouth and Mike groaned, finally letting him in and kissing him back, long and hard.

Micky didn’t quite know what he was doing, but it felt good. Shockingly good. He was used to kissing mostly soft girls (and the occasional hard one, but they were far and few between), Mike was strong and fierce, but not rough with his kiss. But Micky knew what he really wanted. What they both wanted.

He broke the kiss, but murmured against Mike’s lips. “Show me your cock.”

“Why?” Mike muttered darkly. He was remembering … another time. Another conversation not dissimilar from this. That changed everything for the worst.

“Because.”

“Because why?”

“I wanna touch it.”

The statement was so innocent, yet filthy. And awkward, yet sweet. “You wanna touch it? Why ... man ... I don’t want you to touch it unless you really wanna. Just ’cuz I like to jerk it don’t mean I need a pity hand job or nuthin’. Gimme a break. I’m not as pathetic as you think.”

“I don’t think you’re pathetic, Mike. How could you think that? I just wanna make you feel good. You won’t let anyone —”

“Don’t do me no favors, okay?” Mike snarled, suddenly shoving Micky out of his lap in disgust. “Like I said, I don’t need a pity-fuck or whatever you wanna call it. I can make myself feel good all on my own. Just leave me alone, okay? Get outta here. Go play your little game on the beach. I’m through playin’ here.” Mike flopped onto his side on the narrow bed and turned his back on Micky, curling in on himself.

Micky got to his feet again and stood before the bed, looking at Mike, his face burning with shame. Everything he was saying was coming out all wrong and Mike was … Mike was on edge in a way he’d never seen before. Micky was used to Mike being the calm, collected one, but this was different. Mike had been hurt really bad back home — and what he’d confessed to Micky probably wasn’t even the half of it — and a lot of things were starting to slot into place in Micky’s head. Not only why he didn’t get with girls, but why he was often so cagey about what his life was like before he moved to California. Why he was so closed off and standoffish with strangers. Sometimes people asked Micky why he was friends with Mike at all and Micky just said that it was the other Monkees who most often got to see the real Mike. How he took care of them and watched out for them. Bailed them out of trouble again and again. It was kind of an honor to get into Mike’s good books and to be trusted by him. He was a good and loyal friend. He would do anything for them. And they would do anything for him. And Micky had a terrible feeling that if he did what Mike told him — took the easy out and left him alone — things would never be the same. They’d never get over this and Micky would find himself on the outside looking in and that thought terrified him. He couldn’t risk it. Especially when …

“I knew what I was doing when I came in here, Mike,” he said quietly. “I had two whole weeks to think about it and decide. You know that’s an awfully long time for me to think about _anything_. I knew I had to stop being a weirdo peeping Tom, so that meant I had two choices: one, I just stopped and kept it all to myself and pretended it never happened. Or, two, I came in and confessed what I’d done. And why I kept doing it.”

Micky generally operated in two modes. One, the clown, was wild and zany and impulsive; the other, the mechanical whiz/hobby scientist, was logical and thoughtful. The latter mode didn’t show itself all that often, but Micky was in it now and it served to calm Mike down a bit. He didn’t turn to face Micky, but the hard set of his shoulders relaxed somewhat.

“Why _did_ you keep doing it?” Mike murmured.

“Because I liked it. The way you looked and the way you sounded. I’d never seen you like that before. Not anything like that. You never cruise chicks when we’re all together — and now I know why.”

Mike shrugged, silent.

Micky took a breath. “I kept doing it because I wanted to see if you would say my name again. That it wasn’t some fluke. That you … you dig me. Even though I’m skinny and funny-looking and I drive you crazy and always getting into trouble you gotta fix for me and —”

“Funny-looking?” Mike interrupted.

“Well, yeah. I know I am. That’s why I gotta … it’s how I learned how to make an impression on people with other stuff. Jokes and silly faces and voices and playing music and games. To make up for …”

Mike turned around finally and looked at Micky. He needed to see his face to make sure his friend wasn’t putting him on or trying to manipulate him into a better mood.

But it was no put-on. He’d never seen Micky look so vulnerable. Open. A little scared. He was fidgeting, pulling at his long fingers, shoulders hunched forward.

Mike swallowed around a dry throat and forced the words out even as they tried to claw their way back in. “Micky … you’re … gorgeous.” He blushed scarlet.

Micky blinked in surprise, and his wide mouth slowly spread in a shy smile, his own cheeks going pink. “Mike … I think you are, too. You’re … amazing. I just … never looked for it before. You know what I’m like. I’m not always looking in the right place. Even when it’s right in front of me.”

Mike just stared at him, speechless. Micky also didn’t know what else to say, so he did the only other thing he could do to make Mike realize he was being serious. He hooked his thumbs into the waistband of his swim trunks and slowly pulled them down and kicked them off, letting Mike see him completely naked and exposed. He resisted the urge to cover his dick up, because he was too terrified to be turned on at the moment and wasn’t exactly looking very impressive.

“Micky …” Mike breathed.

“I asked to touch you because … I hoped you wanted to touch me, too. I want you to touch me, Mike. Will you?”

Mike’s mouth moved wordlessly and Micky saw several moods shifts over Mike’s face, from disbelief, to suspicion, and then, finally, awed acceptance. He nodded faintly and shifted back on the bed to make room for Micky.

Micky gave a small smile and climbed onto the bed, lying on his left side, facing Mike. Mike reached out, hesitantly, as if he somehow still expected to be ambushed, and placed his hand on Micky’s waist, sliding it up his side, over his ribs, then over his chest. Micky made a sound and leaned in to kiss Mike gently. Mike moaned very softly and opened his mouth to Micky and they kissed, long and slow, while Mike gently touched Micky, mapping his chest and nipples and his arm, feeling Micky’s stomach muscles jump under his fingers.

Mike broke the kiss, breathing hard. “Micky … this ain’t real, is it? I’m dreaming …”

“No, it’s real,” Micky gasped. “It’s not what I expected, either, but —” he took Mike’s hand and slowly guided it down between his legs so he could feel his growing erection “— does that feel real? Will you believe that I want this? I want you?”

“Oh, sweet heavens,” Mike gasped when he felt Micky’s hardening cock against the palm of his hand. He wrapped his fingers possessively around it and squeezed gently. Micky moaned. Mike kissed him deeply and they arched against each other, moaning as they kissed and Mike stroked Micky’s cock until it was hard and slick with precome.

Micky was breathing hard and he shuddered and moaned as Mike kissed down his throat and then stopped to lick and tease his nipples with his lips and teeth. Micky started to fumble at Mike’s pants, but Mike shook his head. “Not yet … I wanna … I wanna make you come, Micky.”

“Oh, god, Mike,” Micky sighed. He didn’t expect to love the way Mike touched him so much. His large, callused hands. His soft, hungry lips. Micky panted as Mike stroked him faster and harder. “Yes …” he gasped. “Make me come, Mike, please … please … oh …”

Mike watched, awestruck, as one of his many fantasies played out in front of him. Micky’s expression in the throes of pleasure, Micky moaning his name and begging for more. Mike wanted to devour him at this point, but he couldn’t stop watching. He kept up the pace, working Micky in his hand until he finally let out a shuddery cry and came, hips bucking into Mike’s hand, his warm semen spilling over his fingers and Micky’s twitching stomach muscles.

“My lord,” Mike whispered, stroking Micky through his climax until he went quiet and still, breathing shakily. Micky looked up at him, his expression hazy and confused, and then a loopy grin spread over his face.

“Wow.”

Mike nodded. “That’s one word for it.”

Micky kissed him again and Mike felt a strange sense of relief. That this was happening and Micky wasn’t running away. And then Micky was murmuring against his lips. “_Now_ can I see your cock?”

Mike let out a surprised laugh. “You are somethin’ else, Mick. I swear.” He wiped his hand on his shirt, not even caring about the mess. He shyly tugged his jeans and underwear down again and pulled out his cock, which was painfully hard, but he’d barely even noticed when he’d been so preoccupied with bringing Micky off.

“It’s so big,” Micky said softly. “I had no idea it was so big.”

Mike shrugged a little, both pleased and embarrassed by the flattery. “Big enough, I s’pose. And well, why would ya? Not like I go swinging it around the Pad.”

Micky smirked. “Good thing. Our furniture is breaking down enough without you clubbing your guy around.”

Mike snorted and rolled his eyes. But then went quickly serious again when he felt Micky’s hand on his chest and he looked into his friend’s kind brown eyes.

“I think you should take the rest of your clothes off, Mike.”

Mike opened his mouth to protest, but then realized it wasn’t really fair when Micky had gotten naked for him. He nodded, blushing again a little as he shrugged out of his shirt, tossing it aside, and Micky helped him untangle his jeans and underwear from around his legs. And then Mike was naked, all long limbs and sharp hips and lean muscle, and before he could get self-conscious, Micky kissed him softly and ran his hand over Mike’s chest and down his stomach. Mike quivered at the touch and Micky thought about how Mike didn’t get touched very much. A lot of the human contact Micky got came from girls. And not just sexual stuff. Everything from holding hands to dancing and hugging and flirting. But Micky was glad that he and his bandmates weren’t that shy about touching each other and being affectionate. Glad they could give that to Mike at least. And now Micky wanted to give him so much more.

Micky nuzzled into Mike’s neck, and finally wrapped his hand around Mike’s erection. Mike let out a shaky moan, his hips twitching.

Micky had never done this before. Not to another person, anyway. He wondered how much Mike had done before, too. The thought comforted him a bit because maybe Mike didn’t have much to compare it to, so it didn’t matter if Micky wasn’t very good at any of this. All he knew is that it felt good to hold and touch Mike this way. It was everything he’d thought about for the past few weeks and more.

* * *

Mike had never been fully naked with another guy before like this. There were a lot of things he’d never done with a guy before and a bunch of them were happening all at once — and with Micky, of all people!

And then Micky was touching him … stroking his cock and Mike let out a shaky moan and gritted his teeth so as not to come right away and humiliate himself. Didn’t want Micky to know that he was the first guy to ever touch him this way. To say that Mike had been deeply closeted in Texas would be like saying The Beatles were a pretty okay band. Mike’s closet had been more of an underground bomb shelter, cut off from the world, safe and sound and restricted from all other human activity. Only one person had nearly breached its perimeter until now. Mike had paid a steep price for letting that person get even near his bunker. He’d very nearly paid with his life.

But Micky … Micky just found the door and strolled on inside. Was making himself right at home and Mike was equal parts elated and terrified.

And then he gasped as Micky squeezed him very firmly and his eyes flew open to meet Micky’s warm, amused gaze.

“Hey,” he murmured, resuming his stroking, his other arm wrapped around Mike, holding him close. “You went away for a bit there. Don’t do that. Stay with me. I wanna make you feel so good, Mike. Does this feel good?”

“Yeah,” Mike whimpered, his hips twitching as Micky pumped him, rubbing the pad of his thumb over the slick head of his cock as it extended from the foreskin. “It’s really good, Mick. Don’t stop …”

“I won’t,” Micky murmured. “I’m gonna make you come, Mike. I like watching you come.”

There was something so matter-of-fact and confident and yet filthy about those words. Mike let out a shuddery groan. It didn’t seem real — any of it. He was just having yet another fevered fantasy. The kind where Micky finally comes to him and tells him that he wants Mike, too. That they can be together. It seemed impossible that it was actually happening, but it was, and his breath came shorter and faster and he was fucking Micky’s hand with soft grunts of pleasure and Micky’s mouth was on his neck and ears, and then Mike was crying out and coming into Micky’s hand in great spurts, his body quivering with the exquisite release.

Micky groaned, stroking Mike through his climax, the semen coating his palm and providing more slick as Mike shuddered and came, and came some more. More powerfully than Micky had ever witnessed in his clandestine spying upon Mike. And that made him feel real good. That he could make Mike feel this way. It made Micky feel kind of powerful, but also very tender toward his friend. And, especially given what he’d learned … about Mike’s attack … very protective. He held Mike’s cock in his hand until it stopped twitching and pulsing, and then he released it and wiped his hand on part of the sheet.

Mike was trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm, breathing shakily. Micky wrapped his arms around Mike, fitting his head into the crook of Micky’s neck. Mike made a soft noise and buried his face against Micky’s warm skin. It felt safe there. It was the first time he’d felt truly safe in … he didn’t even know.

“I’m not much of a fighter, Mike, but you know that,” said Micky quietly. “But if I could find those guys who hurt you back in Dallas … well, I’d find a way to get back at them. Even if I had to build something or invent something. I don’t know what yet, but I’d think of something. They had no right … no right to … they just never should’ve done that, is all.” Micky’s voice pitched half a tone higher as it sometimes did when he got upset. “And there’s nothing wrong with you. Do you hear me? Nothing wrong with you at all. I want you to stop thinking those mean things about yourself. That makes me feel real sad, man. You gotta stop that, okay? We need you, Mike. You’re … one of us. You belong with us.”

He hugged Mike tighter and Mike made a muffled noise and his shoulders began to shake a little and Micky felt wetness on his neck and realized Mike was crying. But Micky knew better than to draw attention to that kind of display from the Texan, so he just held Mike close, stroking his thick, dark hair.

“Besides,” Micky said, “if there’s something wrong with you, well, then there’s something wrong with me, too. So there.”

Finally Mike lifted his head, his eyes reddened, soft cheeks tear-stained, full lips pouting to the point where Micky just had to kiss them, but Mike pulled back a little. “Ain’t nothin’ wrong with you, Micky. If anything, I’m the one leadin’ you astray”.

Micky laughed softly. “Astray from what, exactly? I may be young, Mike, but I’m old enough to make my own decisions. The law says so, yesiree. You shoulda seen how happy my mom was when she realized she was no longer legally responsible for anything I destroyed — I mean, did. Oh boy, my eighteenth birthday party had more of her friends there than mine, I tell ya. It was a gas, man, I —”

“Do you even have any idea what you’re doin’, Mick?” Mike interrupted.

“No! … do you?”

Mike’s mouth quirked in a rueful smile. “Ain’t got a damn clue.”

Micky shrugged, reaching up to wipe some remaining tears from Mike’s cheek. “Well, that’s groovy, then. We’re gonna stumble through this together.”

“This?” Mike asked softly.

Micky frowned. “What … is there no _this_?”

Mike shrugged. “I kinda figured _this_ would be a one-off thing for you.”

“_Is_ it a one-off thing?”

Mike looked away from Micky’s innocent gaze and let his fingertips play gently over his friend’s bare chest, touching the sparse patches of hair coming in. “Well, no,” he mumbled. “Given a choice, then, no. I don’t want this to be a one-off.”

“Well, neither do I.”

“But … we share a room, man. I don’t want it to get weird. It seems a little soon to …”

“Put a label on it?”

“Yeah.”

Micky shrugged. “I could switch with Davy?”

“No!” Mike said, louder than he meant to, clutching Micky close. “No, man. Don’t do that … I like sharing with you.”

“Yeah, you’ve made that abundantly clear!”

“Oh, hush, you. I just mean … maybe we kinda ease into this. You’ve had more time to think about than me. I never thought this would be anything more than a fantasy, man. Pure imagination. And you went and made it real. I … I’m still gettin’ my head around that.”

“Okay, then maybe we just don’t rush it. Meet you here next Tuesday? Same time?”

Mike peered at Micky, trying to figure out if he was joking or not. “You serious, man?”

“Well, yeah. It’s pretty much the only time we get alone together in the Pad.”

“But … we’ll be in here alone every night to sleep.”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t count. You need to think about stuff. I guess I do, too. So it’s the same as it ever was. ’Til Tuesday.”

Mike smiled. “’Til Tuesday. Okay. And what happens after that?”

Micky shrugged. “I dunno. That’s next-Tuesday-Micky-and-Mike’s problem. Let them worry about that.”

Mike laughed this time. “You are the living end, Mick.”

“Hey, Mike?”

“Yeah?”

“It’s still this Tuesday and I was kinda hopin’ we could fool around some more before the guys get home.”

Mike smiled softly. “Yeah?”

Micky grinned. “Oh, you better believe it.” And he kissed Mike with such enthusiasm and lack of guile and Mike felt like he’d been given the keys to the kingdom, but also it all seemed too good to be true. But he agreed it was good to wait for a little while. ’Til Tuesday.


	4. Epilogue

Devil-Micky and angel-Micky were perched on the headboard of Micky’s bed on the other side of the room. Angel-Micky grumbled as he dug deep into the pockets of his jeans.

“C’mon, fork it over,” devil-Micky said, wiggling the fingers of his outstretched palm.

Angel-Micky scowled as he shoved some gold pieces into the other one’s hand. “I still can’t believe I let you talk me into a wager in the first place. It’s not my nature at all!”

“What can I say? I’m very, _very_ good at my job!” devil-Micky chuckled, counting the money carefully.

“I wouldn’t cheat you! I am an angel, after all.”

“An angel with a lousy sense of what a nineteen-year-old kid wants and needs. Those two —” devil Micky pointed to the naked couple writhing together on the opposite bed “— they want each other. They need each other.”

“Lust is one thing, certainly,” angel-Micky groused. “But it’s not the only thing.”

“Look, it’s crowded enough here already — let’s not bring _that_ guy in here just yet.”

“Who? Oh … _him_.” Angel-Micky rolled his eyes.

There was a small _pop_ sound and then a breathy voice. “Oooh, did someone call?”

“Now look what you’ve done!” devil-Micky snarled.

“_Me_?” gasped angel-Micky, aghast, pressing a hand to his chest. “You’re the one who mentioned him in the first place!”

“What’s going on here, oh my!” And Cupid-Micky sighed amorously, taking in the sight of Micky and Mike wrapped up in each other. “Well, isn’t this something!” He turned, his soft wings fluttering, burnished curls framing a face that seemed to be permanently set in a dreamy-eyed expression. “Gracious, why didn’t you call me sooner?”

“Apparently you’re only listening to someone mentioning you personally,” angel-Micky muttered, once again slightly galled by Cupid-Micky’s penchant for wearing as little clothing as possible. Today it was a tiny pair of red satin shorts.

Cupid-Micky adjusted his grip on his bow and reached behind for his quiver of arrows.

“OH, NO YOU DON’T!” Devil-Micky growled, leaping off the headboard and wresting the arrow from Cupid-Micky’s tiny hand.

“Hey! Don’t touch those, you brute! What are you do—OH!” the tiny cherub’s jaw dropped as devil-Micky incinerated his entire supply of arrows with a snap of his fingers. “How dare you! Do you know how long it takes me to make even _one_ of those? Why, I ought to …”

“Oughta _what_?” mocked devil-Micky, sitting back on the headboard and lighting up a cigarette. “You oughta do nuthin’, is what. It’s far too soon for your crap. Let the kids enjoy themselves for a while.”

“Oh … you beast!” Cupid-Micky wailed, his lip quivering before he burst into indignant tears.

Angel-Micky sighed, unfolding his wings and drifting to Cupid-Micky’s side. He conjured a lacy white handkerchief from thin air and handed it to the bawling cherub. “Now, now, my dear, it’s not as bad as all that. As much as it pains me to say it … that one over there is right. It’s too soon.”

Cupid-Micky blew his nose with a great _honk_ and gestured in the direction of the two boys. “But look at them! They’re so beautiful! All I need to do is …”

“Wait,” said angel-Micky softly. “We need to wait. All in due time, Cupid, my dear. Besides, I do think you’ll be rather busy constructing new arrows.”

He gave a sidelong glance to devil-Micky, who grinned and shrugged. “I do what I can, man.”

Cupid-Micky scowled. “I’ll be back! And don’t think I’ll forget about this any time soon, you devil!”

“Oooh, I’m _shakin’_!” devil-Micky sneered just before the cherub disappeared with another _pop_.

“Was that really necessary?” Angel-Micky sighed.

“Little putz had it comin’ to him.”

Angel-Micky rolled his eyes and pointed to the real Micky. “Fine. We should really go. He’s going to need us later after this is all done.”

“You go on. I’m gonna wait for them … to finish.”

“Oh, you really are loathsome.”

“Part of the job description, Daddy-O. See ya on the flippity-flop!”

“Give me strength.” Angel-Micky rolled his eyes once more and disappeared.

**Author's Note:**

> I plan to carry this one for a little bit anyway -- as a series of short fics under a series banner. Thanks for reading!
> 
> p.s. I picked Tuesday as a random day and didn't even think about the connection with Nez's book title until later. So now I have to call the series that.


End file.
